Madness
by Alessandra Hope's thief
Summary: Something's changed with Ororo, she woke up from a nightmare ¿Did she actually wake up or was't it just a nightmare? ¿What is it really? Even suffering, Remy is the only one there for her.


This story just came to my head like a flash, and I sat down to write it and I got what you'll read below. It is strange, yes, but even so, I hope you can understand. And you must get that it was something that came to my mind suddenly.

Taking the opinions of people who reviewed my other story, besides I thought I needed it, I accepted the help of a Beta who is Ashra Mirage. **THANK YOU SO MUCH :D!** I trust your word, so I didn't change anything, because of that, and because I thought it was perfect as you corrected it, WE ALL NEED HELP, I'M GLAD I HAD YOURS ;) 

**I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR THEIR STORIES; THEY BELONG TO MARVEL COMICS AND THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS! : '(**

**I DO THIS JUST FOR FUN AND NOT FOR COMMERCIAL REASONS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT** ... it's really a shame that I don't own them, if so, THEY BOTH WOULD BE TOGETHER ..!

**Chapter One: Madness**

_Ororo's POV_

_Everything was blurry, like if it was water; everything around me looked like water, at least when it touches something. _

_I think it was a temporary effect because little by little everything was - in subtle ways - becoming clear. I could then recognize what was around me, although everything was dark. I could define the outlines of columns and frames on the wall, as the cracks in the floor. I realized it was a broker — an old and worn one — as I began to explore it. As I progressed, there wasn't more light –on the contrary, every little object and image lost some more. _

_There were some works on the walls, located literally in aleatory order. All of them were practically the same, which was why only one caught my attention. _

_I knew I must've looked for a way out of __here__, or find out what was __here, __how I had arrived and on. A way to find out everything I didn't know, which was really frustrating. But as strange as I may describe it, and still not believing it, I found myself in front of the work. A note laid on the bottom right of it, written in a casual yet elegant calligraphy._

"_Among the ecstasy of freedom, or madness, –as is often misunderstood, – you face your own reflection which, although carved in another language, can be recognized" _

_In a brash and ignorant attack, I grabbed the box with my hands and threw it to the floor, breaking the glass that covered it. Without being aware –and executing automatic acts in the same way– I seized the canvas and in less than seconds, I had broken the material in several parts._

_Without realizing it, my mood changed drastically and my face turned out contemplative. As I looked down at the remains of the painting, a fleeting shadow –that a caught from the corner of my eye– seized my attention. I immediately turned around, surprised, and focused my eyes on the columns, as if doing so I'd be able to see through them. _

"_Who's there?" I tried unsuccessfully to get answers to my questions_

_I was staring into emptiness; all I saw was dark, quiet and cold. What concerned me most was the latter. I never felt cold, courtesy of my powers. But here, everything was different and somehow gloomy. Although I previously mentioned the word quiet, I omitted the fact that that was the obvious and easily deductible, and that by the strange relationship I knew I had with that painting, I realized that it was quite the opposite. __This__ was the most inner and disturbed thing I'd ever known._

_I decided then that I wanted to get out of there once and for all, not just because of the bizarre atmosphere that was breathed, but because of how vulnerable it made me feel._

_I saw again the shadow moving somewhere else than where I had been watching. I turned suddenly. I walked to where I figured, whatever that was, might be. As I approached, I could see a bright pair of eyes, a red one. Suddenly, I knew there was no need to fear, that person meant no threat. Now it was as if this were a game, a sad game; wherever the shadow goes, my eyes follow it._

"_Who are you?" I asked innocently, the brightness disappeared for a moment, like if that subject had their eyes closed. _

_I felt the strange need to stroke it, so I held my hand up to its face. I was about to touch it, but I felt a little gust of wind that indicated to me that it had moved again._

_I turned around as soon as I realized that, and I only saw the empty and cold corridor. I stood in what seemed to be the center of the endless room, and closed my eyes, letting my sense of hearing act. I contemplated the silence while I kept my eyelids closed, and turned around as soon as I heard its soft breathing again._

"_Stop hiding."_

_I perceived as it changed its position again, when it felt exposed. _

"_I know you're there, Remy." _

_It was obvious after seeing a brown coat and the intensity of the brightness of those eyes —the shadow was my ungrateful friend. Instead of approaching –as I wanted to do– I walked in circles, hesitatingly. I felt that the floor was sinking, but that didn't stop keep me from talking, _

"_I knew I couldn't trust you," I said unconsciously yet thoughtful. "Didn't you say you'd always be with me, huh?" _

_I noticed how he was coming behind me, slowly, and I hated his surprised face when I turned around and gave him a stern look._

"_Why did you go?" _

_I spoke as calmly as I could. I really wanted to rush towards him and release all my anger on his face, which was caused partly by ignorance's frustration. _

_He was lifeless, no movement, no gesture, nothing. That just infuriated me more, but I refrained. I felt confusion; in fact, all that I was, was confused. The problem was that I didn't know what had made a mess in my mind. The only thing that was clear was that I felt a kind of anger against him. Why? Wasn't he my dear friend?_

_I was close enough to allow him to touch my face –although I knew those were his intentions– he didn't. I lasted quite a while looking at his beautiful red eyes. They spoke in a language so entangled, that only fueled my anger. I wanted him to answer me. Why didn't he just speak?_

"_You're a liar, not a thief."_

_I turned, resigned. I sought to return by the same road that I initially traveled by before finding myself in the middle of this ridiculous game, but when I looked up, I was back in front of his eyes. I knew he was imploring me to understand him, to stay, but I just wanted to leave that place. I knew nothing about what was happening. Why was I even telling him those things? _

_Instinctively, I closed my eyes and I stayed just so. I knew –I don't know how, that __this__ –whatever __this__ is, was coming to an end. Before everything vanished, I sensed the worried aura emanating out of him, and the two fingers he'd lifted and put over my closed eyelids. _

_Everything vanished, although not subtly. It was more like in a theater the rope were cut and the curtain was let to fall obstreperously._

The next thing I knew was that I had screamed and I was now covered with a thin layer of cold sweat. I could hear my own choppy breathing, and looked with my eyes supremely open to any particular point. I jumped up as soon as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I inadvertently ran to the corner of my room and turned to look. It was Remy, standing next to my bed, and next to a small chair.

He stretched his hand slightly forward, trying to reach out to me, and preventing another sharp reaction from me. I stood perfectly still, staring in horror, as if he was the most horrible monster. He got close enough to grab my hand feebly and after feeling trusted he pulled me into a hug, which I responded to, unexpectedly and desperately. I clung to him so tightly, with so much need, as if he had been gone a long time to an unreachable place.

"Shhhhh, calm down, Stormy." He patted my head in despair. I could feel the impotence hidden in the tone of his voice; he felt helpless because of something I ignored, and I knew deep down that the words of encouragement were barely directed towards me.

"It was jus' a nightmareh," he continued. I felt his jaw tightly pressed against my head, revealing his useless efforts to hide the frustration I could feel out of him.

"What's up, Remy?"

I practically begged him with the tone of my voice, full of worry. I heard his sad laughing and his heavy sigh.

"Wud serve of notin' tellin' ya, chére … of notin'."

My heart broke into pieces just seeing the look he gave me after that resigned sentence. I opened my mouth to ask again, to try to figure out what was going on. To take away this uncertainty so upsetting in my thoughts, this confusion so extreme in my mind, this helplessness in the environment, the sadness evident in each of his heavy breaths.

But he interrupted me with a new embrace. I felt he needed it, so I answered it only a few seconds. I still wanted a response. He did not release me from his grip; instead, he kept whispering to me that nothing happened, that everything would be fine. I turned away abruptly tired of this _useless game_.

"Everything will be fine? Is something wrong then?" I asked, already desperate, but he didn't flinch in the slightest; he only drew on his perfect face something like a smile.

"Ya don' kno' how hard it 's t' not have ya."

His eyes sparkled even more than any other day. I was completely still — with the confused expression etched on my features, frowning.

I looked for explanations, and I found more questions. The tone of his voice, the severity with which he spoke, the sadness turned into a red glow over his beautiful onyx eyes frightened me. Even the beating of his heart cried out to me that he was suffering, and according to what he said, was somehow because of me.

Soon I felt the warmth of his hand on my cheek, but I missed the trembling in them, as if he was afraid to touch me. I had closed my eyes in a reflex action; his indecisive thumb rested on my lips and so gently outlined them. I felt then the need to remove his fingers and attack his mouth. I wanted the same treatment from his lips. I had no chance to do it; his mouth was already touching mine, so slowly that it made me forget the confusion and the eager desire for answers. Now I just wanted to kiss him, _kiss him again and be able to remember it later._

The kiss was tender. He'd touched every part of my mouth with his lips in such a shy way, yet bewitching. It was slow, slow and soft, and somehow, leaving behind the exquisite that it was, it felt like a farewell.

A farewell I already knew.

He had withdrawn his hand from my chin over the sensitive friction and had again put it there, firmer, sadder. His eyes confirmed that it was a sort of farewell.

"It hurts too much t' have ya sometimes an' others not. Lose ya so mercilessly an' suddenly," he finally said, fixing his eyes on mine. "Every nigh' y're here, an' every nigh' Ah miss ya—"

Without finishing the overwhelming sentence, he bowed his head slightly, his hair hiding his eyes as he closed them hard. He tried to hide it in the dark, but it betrayed him, running freely down by his cheek.

This was too much.

"Damn it, Remy, what's wrong? Why do you tell me this? What's going on with me? ...You're scaring me!"

I lifted his head sharply and looked at his face. He had cleaned –without me noticing it– the solitary tear. And there it was again, his usual charm and charisma. I heard his hoarse laugh.

"Ah'm a gud actor, non?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Stop playing. What happened?"

I answered his question in silence. He wasn't a good actor and this definitely wasn't funny at all. Something was wrong and now he wanted to deny everything, trying to make me believe it was all a joke.

"Stormy, Ah was jus' kiddin', relax."

He tried to act naturally; he sat on the bed and with that stupid smile still on his face, he took off his boots and shirt. He lifted the covers and settled them down quickly. He hit the other side of the bed, _my_ side of the bed. Well, the side in which I usually lay down on, because it was actually _my_ bed.

"Are y' coming or stayin' dere wit' ... dat face?"

He grimaced, giving so emphasis to his last words. I just stayed there with a frown. I knew that he would say nothing more even if I insisted. Tomorrow I would force him to talk then, he was doing his best to convince me that everything was normal; however, something told me it wasn't so.

I did not move since he asked the question, I stopped looking at all the possibilities. Suddenly, my mind was blocked and I forgot everything that I was thinking before.

Blank.

I don't know how I got to be lying in bed, clinging irrationally to _an auburn haired, red eyed man again_. I felt the need to hold onto something and I guess _he_ was always there. I felt his kisses on my head, trying in vain to calm me down, his hands stroking my hair and my back –down and up, as his arms clung to my body, realizing my alien need of him to do so.

My head was on his chest; I could hear the heartbeat. I listened to them so pleasantly, as if they were the only thing that could calm me. I felt the veil of sleep that wanted to hug me, warm and soothing; it made my eyelids feel heavy, so I closed my eyes.

I started to ramble then.

I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. It was as if my life was empty, but at the same time there were so many things to discover. Things that I could play with, if I wanted.

The world. I saw the world full of colors, with a canvas behind it, and a simple brush in my hand. It was as simple as that. Me, the artist. The world, my work.

Freedom, sweet and complete freedom. I just needed to lift a finger and everything corresponded with movement. The _nothing_ I mentioned before was just that, just _nothing_ missed to be free. Therefore, if I don't feel anything, I'm free, and by ironies of fate, that precious treasure allowed me to feel more. It was as if I had been tied to myself, because of fear, because of awe. But I'd stopped fearing, I'd even stopped worrying about what'd be the price I'd to pay for that _freedom._

It's just that there was so much confusion and chaos that the only thing I would dare to say with all certainty is that I was _crazy_.

That dream, in which I break the work, _my _work_, my world._ In which I asked things without knowing the basis of those questions. In which his absence made me angry in.

That dream was the answer. Sanity had left me, just as I thought _the auburn haired, red eyed man–_no_, __Remy_had. But _he_ didn't. Right now, even if my mind was far away, I could feel the soothing beat of _his_ heart. So I figured that somewhere in my now troubled being, that sanity –so despised by some–- would be found hidden. And I knew that like any disease, it had a cure. Mine, _my_ cure, was holding my weight with _his_ body, consoling me quietly. My cure was _Remy_, the only effective.

But right now it didn't matter; right now I was just enjoying my disease.

Oh, sweet _freedom_, finally I feel you, so rebellious and disturbed, scurrying inside me. Exquisite _ecstasy_ flowing naturally through my veins.

_Madness._

_Freedom._

Yeah, I was _free_ and I was _insane_.

_Perfect_, I thought with irony as I finished wandering, and I fell asleep being lulled by his palpitate.

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_Remy's__POV_

It lasted for minutes this time, eternal and painful minutes. It was true; it hurt. It hurt too much to know that she was like that and know that I couldn't do anything. I would have preferred to be with her in insanity, or in sanity, but not_ without_ her. Each in a different side was complicated. And ironically - at the same time - that the sane one was me, when all my life it had been on the contrary.

_Did she have another moment of lucidity? _

I was absorbed in my thoughts, so I just heard the voice of the furry subject, but I could not get any word in order to deduce what he had asked me.

I had slipped quietly beneath her and I had left Ororo in her bed, asleep. Before leaving, I took one last look at her flawless face. I closed my eyes tightly and clenched my jaw trying to contain the anger that caused me to be completely useless to her in these moments. I turned the knob and opened the door, when I was getting out, I closed it slowly, being careful to not make noise that could wake her up. I needed a beer. That was what prompted me to leave; otherwise, I would never leave her alone. But she was deeply asleep, so she probably wouldn't notice.

"Huh?" I made that sound like a request to repeat the question.

"Did she have another moment of lucidity?" he asked with his usual kindness yet genuinely worried. I was slow to respond. I hadn't gotten used to this whole _situation_.

"Oui, Hank ... Dis time it lasted less," I answered finally.

_I really missed her._

I pressed my nose as a sign of tiredness. "Have y' made progress in anytin'?" I asked with a hopeful tone.

"Not fully, but hopefully, if everything goes well, we'll have Ororo _back._" he answered as happy as possible, obviously trying to lift my mood, which succeeded.

I gave him one of my most sincere smiles. Since Stormy got _sick_¸ Hank had spent most of his time trying to synthesize a cure, which without base from which to start, had cost him work to get anything remotely good; even almost all the people in the manor had said there was not much of a chance that Ororo would return to normal. And Hank had said: _"I will just defy the laws of probability!"_ No doubt he was one of the few people who had kept the faith. Including me, of course.

"She will be fine."

He tried to cheer me up. I smiled again. I _had _to believe in him. Ororo was after all, all I had.

"Ah hope so."

To my response, he just smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder to say goodbye and try to encourage me.

"Rest, Remy, you need it. Good night."

I nodded, signaling that I wished him the same thing. I stood up with my back straight, head high and I outlined a smile of encouragement. I convinced myself that everything would be fine and walked down the stairs towards the kitchen, now mainly I needed that beer.

Everything would be fine.

She would be back.

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I'm thinking about find out the grammar rules, like that my Beta wouldn't have so much stupid work like putting quotation marks, well, or things like those.

I hope you liked it, even if you did not, you can leave a review saying why. If it is too tangled, or you liked it, or whatever, let me know, please.

SERIOUSLY, I KNOW PEOPLE DO READ OR SEE THIS STORY, SO IT DOESN'T TAKE MUCH TIME SHARING YOUR OPINION…. 

**THANKS FOR READING, AND REVIEWING, IN THAT CASE, BYE.**


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